


Masks

by bakedgoldfish



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drama, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e09 Bartlet for America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-22
Updated: 2003-02-22
Packaged: 2019-05-15 04:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14783874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: We all wear masks.





	Masks

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Masks**

**by:** Baked Goldfish 

**Category:** Leo  
**Rating:** MATURE, for a little language, and a character death (made-up, not on the show)  
**Spoilers:** Bartlet For America  
**Summary:** We all wear masks.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own TWW, I'm not making money here, please don't sue me.  


[1961] 

"You're the man of the house, now," his mother said sadly. 

He was still dressed in the hot, dark suit, sweating from the midsummer sun, even though they were indoors now.  The service was over, and they were back at the home his father had left him; it was large, and quiet like the end of a record.  His mother's makeup was smeared from tears, and his two younger sisters – one fourteen, the other seven – were standing between him and their mother, heads ducked and eyes wide.  His own eyes were raked dry and raw from the tears he'd been crying for the past few days.  Seventeen, not even out of high school, and the son of a lawyer; those were the things that used to define him.  And with the sharp snap of a gunshot, his definition boiled down to four words: man of the house.  

His youngest sister turned her head up to look at him, her bouncy, Shirley Temple curls springing softly.  He felt her lost, sad eyes on him, and he looked down at her.  He was the man of the house, now, and his sisters and mother needed him to support them; he swallowed his fear, and set his jaw.  His youngest sister was still staring at him. 

His face was a mask of strength and compassion, and he smiled at her. 

[1966] 

"Joker 2, this is Joker 1.  I've taken a hit, repeat, I have taken a hit," the radio crackled.  "Check my tail for me, over." 

Leo shifted in the confined cockpit and peered into the night sky in front of him.  "Roger that, you're streamin' fuel-"  His hand jerked suddenly as the fuel ignited, and he swerved away from the other plane.  "Shit, you're on fire, man!"  He heard static for a long second before he saw a seat shoot up away from the burning, dropping plane; he scribbled down the coordinates and switched radio frequencies, his fingers shaking inside the thick gloves.  He had been trained for this, time and time again, but he was only twenty-two, and this had never happened before to him.  He thought of the one-year-old son he had at home, the son who had never seen his father, and wondered if he would be able to see his son grow up. 

"Red King, Red King, this is Joker 2," he stated, using all his willpower to keep from screaming.  "Joker 1 is down, repeat, Joker 1 is down, over." 

"Copy that, Joker 2," came the staticky reply.  "Send over the coordinates, and carry on with the mission."  There was a tiny pause, one that he would not have noticed had he not been so on edge, and the same staticky voice added, "The ball's in your court now.  Over." 

He took a deep breath and rattled off the numbers – syllables, just sounds, absolutely meaningless in the black of night – and pulled his plane into the lead position.  Blinking the sweat from his eyes, he built a wall in his mind, masking his fear; tonight, he was in the lead, and his subordinates needed him to think clearly.  

He pushed all emotion away and flew forward to the target. 

[1970] 

"Leo, we need to talk." 

He looked up from the thick, musty book on his desk, his eyes and face tired from study.  "Jenny ... I've got an exam in – I can't-" 

"Leo-" 

He stared at her worried eyes, and rubbed his own, swallowing a sigh.  Keeping his weariness hidden, he returned her look with a more put-together gaze.  "What's wrong, sweetie?" 

She took a hesitant step towards him, and said, "I'm pregnant." 

He stood up, and stared at her blankly; in the other room, little Matthew was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the silence that had descended upon his parents.  Leo inhaled sharply, and said, "You're pregnant?" 

Jenny nodded, and it looked as if she were about to smile and sob at the same time.  "The doctor said I'm two months along.  Leo, I don't know if we can do this, you're in school, I'm still paying for my loans, and there's Matty-" 

"Shh," he murmured, standing and taking her into his arms.  He knew it would stretch their budgets, but he would get his license soon enough, and he'd get a job with some big firm for a few years before going into politics.  Right now, he'd have to get a second job – a night shift somewhere, since he was already closing at the store he worked at right now, and his days were filled with classes – but he would make it work for them.  "I'll take care of us, okay?  I love you." 

"It's not gonna be too much for you?" she asked, her face buried against his neck. 

Probably, but he'd never let her know.  He knew her worrying would be no good for her, or for their children, so he clamped a determined mask on his face and told her, "No, no, it'll be fine." 

He loved his family, and he had a responsibility to support them. 

[1977] 

"I don't know what to do about the – the dreams.  I can't let Jenny know, but I think she's worryin' about me now." 

"How long's this been going on?" 

Leo rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the now-invisible scar he'd gotten when he'd bailed out so many years ago.  "I don't know.  Um, a few months, I think." 

"A few months?" the doctor pressed. 

He relented, and dropped his hand.  "A little while after I got back," he admitted.  "But I didn't really have time to think about it until now.  I guess ... I mean, I'd been able to hide it, and stuff." 

The doctor scribbled a note on a small slip of paper.  "I want you to go fill this prescription immediately," he said, handing the slip to Leo. 

He took it, and glanced at the hastily scrawled word: Valium.  "This'll help with-" 

"It'll take the edge off," the doctor assured him.  "You'll still need to come in for counselling every now and then, but this will help with the jitters." 

Leo nodded, and folded the paper carefully before putting it in his wallet.  "Thanks, Doc.  You don't know what this means to me." 

"It's no problem," the doctor replied.  "Just follow the directions, and it'll set you straight." 

He stood up, nodded again, and left.  Jenny was starting to notice his nervousness, and so was Matthew, even though he couldn't make the connection between what was happening to his father and his father's service.  Mallory was too young yet to notice much, but even she could tell there was something different in the McGarry household.  He knew he couldn't keep up appearances, as he drove to the pharmacy, and that it would become even more noticable as time went on.  Alcohol could only prevent so much, and work couldn't be his excuse for very much longer. 

He needed to mask his fears; he needed to take the edge off. 

[1984] 

Three rifles went off at once, and Leo felt Jenny flinch as she held his hand.  Beside her, Mallory was crying silently, trying to keep all sound out of the somber ceremony.  Matthew James McGarry, the headstone would say.  A single, clean block, with a cross on the top, lined up with countless others like it, like soldiers in formation in the vast Arlington Cemetery.  

Three rifles went off at once, and he pictured his son in his mind, burning the image of him graduating from basic training into his psyche; they'd all been so proud, and happy.  Matthew James McGarry, killed in "unswerving, courageous defense of his country," the letter had said.  A botswain's mate, he had died in an accident, and the military, being the military, had tried to console his family by telling them he was loyal and strong. 

Three rifles went off at once, and Mallory finally let out a little sound, weak and lost.  Leo let go of his wife's hand and grabbed his daughter's, squeezing it.  He was self-concious of the few cameras that were there; it had been a well-publicized accident, and he was the Chief of Staff to the Senate Minority Leader.  

The gun salute ended, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air, acrid and sweet all at the same time.  He was self-concious of the cameras, even though his wife, daughters, sisters, and mother were not.  He blinked the tears away, swallowed his cry as the Navy honor guard folded the flag into a neat, perfect triangle, and straightened himself in his seat as they approached him and his family.  He glanced at his wife and daughter; they were openly crying now, at the finality of it all he presumed.  He wanted to join them, but they needed someone to cry *to*, not with.  He held out his hands as the head of the honor guard presented the folded flag to him. 

When they reached home, later that night, and when all the guests had left, he pulled out the thirty-year-old bottle of scotch he would have given his son on his twenty-first birthday.  He knew that Jenny and Mallory were both in bed, asleep, but he still could not cry.  He couldn't take the edge off, and he couldn't take the mask off; so he took the cap off the bottle, and tried to dull his nerves. 

He had a responsibility to support his family, but he didn't know how to do it without a little help anymore. 

[1993] 

He collapsed on his bed; then, he closed his eyes, and wondered how he'd lived for twenty-eight days away from this bed.  Still in the clothes he'd gotten off the plane in, he pulled the pillow under his neck and kicked his shoes off before pulling the covers over his body. 

His eyes were still closed when his wife crawled in next to him.  He felt her arms wrap around him, and he rolled into her embrace.  "We need to stay here for a while," he murmured. 

"We do," she agreed, smiling against his forehead.  "Leo?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You promise me you'll never put us through this again?" 

He nodded, and his lips may have brushed against her neck.  "I promise," he said, and it was heartfelt.  He could feel himself beginning to drift off; Sierra Tucson might have been an expensive facility, but the beds there sure hadn't shown it.  His bed was soft, and large, and, most importantly, at home.  

Jenny began absently rubbing circles on his back, small and gentle.  "You know we've got this 'coming home' party thing later," she said quietly. 

He opened his eyes, and tilted his head up to face her.  He'd known about it, as she had told him on the plane, but he'd hoped for a few more hours of rest before having to face everyone.  "I know," he replied, turning his head back down and closing his eyes. 

"I'm so proud of you," she sighed, and he opened his eyes again, though this time he did not look at her.  "You're so strong, you know that?  I love that about you." 

He nodded against her skin, and pulled himself together; he needed to stay strong for her, and for Mallory, and for everyone else who'd had faith in him.  

"Yeah," he tells her, masking the weariness he feels, and he gives her a kiss on the lips and a smile before they crawl out of bed again. 

[1998] 

"Is he okay?" 

"Leo, what happened?" 

Leo shook his head.  "Is the governor, is the governor – is he all right?" 

Josh steepled his fingers to his lips, and leaned his elbows on his knees.  "Leo," he began, leaning forward in his seat.  "What the hell happened?" 

He inhaled shakily, and shook his head.  "I, uh, had a drink ... I don't know."  He looked at Josh with wide, scared eyes, and Josh wasn't so sure that he wasn't scared, himself.  "I just-" 

"No," Josh muttered, scrubbing at his face with his hands.  "No, do you know how *bad* this will be if anyone finds out?  Do you ... " 

Leo nodded, his head bowed as he sat across from Josh.  "I know.  I, I'll have my resignation – you're gonna have to handle-" 

Josh grabbed Leo's hands in his, and shook them, holding them together; they were old hands, hands that had held him when he was a baby, hands that had built a family, hands that had built a campaign.  "Leo.  Look at me."  When he made eye contact, he asked, "Is there anyone you can call?" 

He glanced away, and immediately scattered.  "Is Jed-" 

"This isn't about the governor," Josh interrupted.  "He's fine.  It's you I'm worried about." 

He swallowed, hard.  "I don't know if I can do this again, Josh," he stated, his voice sounding harsh and tight.  "I don't know if-"  His voice caught in his throat, and he looked down. 

"Hey."  Josh tugged on his hands, getting his attention.  "You gotta do this.  And you're gonna."  At the lack of response, he added, "You're stronger than this, Leo.  You've done it once; you can do it again.  Have you called Jenny yet?" 

"No," he replied, shaking his head vehemently.  "No, I can't – she'll – I can't tell her." 

"You have to tell somebody," Josh said gently. 

"I can't tell her," Leo said. 

Sighing, Josh looked down.  "It's your call," he admitted.  "Just ... the governor needs you, okay?  You talked him into this.  You brought all of us into this."  He looked up again and said, "We all need you.  You can do this." 

Leo regarded him, as they sat in his hotel room late at night.  He didn't know how he was going to do this, but he knew he had to; he had a purpose.  He was scared shitless, but he had a purpose.  They needed him, Josh had said.  They needed for him to be clearminded and levelheaded. 

Leo swallowed, his throat dry and raw, and nodded.  Pulling himself together the best he could, he said, "Then let's get this place cleaned up, huh?"  Josh smiled at him, and squeezed his shoulder. 

Leo smiled back, and pretended to be strong, mask in place. 

[2001] 

"That was awfully nice of you," Bartlet said before leaving the office. 

Leo kept his tears in check until his office was empty.  Then, alone, he let the mask fall. 

-end- 


End file.
